Chapter Twenty-Nine
Margot greeted me with a nod from the bar as I entered the Morning Bell. Deep in a whispered phone call, her face was red as she pinched her nose and rolled her eyes at whoever spoke on the other end.
“Has she been like that long?” I asked Rachel, who met me at the register.
She flicked a wavy chunk of fire red hair from her shoulder with no small amount of annoyance. “Just a few minutes. I think I need one of those Luke Danes ‘no phones’ signs.”
I snorted and patted the counter. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Margot held up a finger to me as I approached, to which I lifted both eyebrows and crossed my arms.
“You know what? I don’t care,” she hissed into the speaker, ending the call and nearly slamming it face-down on the bar. I watched as she drew a long breath in and out before settling back on the bar stool and swinging one leg over the other.
“Well, now youhaveto tell me,” I joked weakly, sidling into the stool beside her.
Margot’s eyes darted to mine. Of the three espresso cups before her, she plucked up the half-full one and brought it to her maroon lips. “About what?” she replied coolly, setting it down with the others.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that the phone call was related to the texts you were getting yesterday,” I responded.
She turned to me with a squint. “That’s awfully forward of you.”
“And is that bad?” I cut back, pulse thundering at the base of my throat. Margot was one of thoseforce-of-naturewomen. Going up against her was something I’d always avoided.
“No,” she replied, tapping her nails against the counter with a succession of clacks.
“Here ya go,” Rachel interrupted, sliding a ceramic latte cup toward me on its saucer. The dark foam had some sort of ornate, bird-like design in it. “Figured you’d want it hot. It’s so cold out today for the time of year.”
“I don’t know how you do this,” I murmured as I stared at her latte art.
She wiped her hands on the rag in her apron and shrugged. “Practice.”
“Will you teach Cameron to do that?” Margot added and rested her chin in her palm, studying my latte’s foam. “Mine weren’t very pretty.”
Rachel’s shoulders slumped forward a fraction. “I wish. The bosses think it’s a waste of time and resources.”
Margot wrinkled her nose in response. I took a miniscule sip, careful not to disturb the bird.
“Well, they must not be very smart,” she told Rachel, not even bothering to lower her voice.
“Margot!” I chastised, cheeks flaming as I glanced around the cafe.
She blinked. “What?”
Rachel snorted. “I know what you mean. More people taking photos of their drinks means more business.” Sighing, her eyes took on a far-off look as she wiped the already clean bar. “What can you do?”
Margot opened her mouth, and I sent her a glare. She pretended to throw up her hands, opting to finish her espresso.
After a stretch of silence, I spoke. “Speaking of the cold weather—I was just informed by Dot that the storm on Sunday is supposed to be heavy enough to flood Main Street.” I didn’t bother with smiling. It was terrible news.
Rachel groaned. “I’m sorry. But at least the festival is up the hill at the high school?”
“Yeah,” I replied, taking another swig in hopes it would help with the lump forming in my throat. “The festival might be fine, but I don’t know if all of our businesses will be. Or our homes, for that matter.”
Not long ago, I thought that was all we cared about: festivals, tourists, and the traditions that we all loved. But truthfully, all of that didn’t matter without the people who made up Bluebell Cove.
“Where’s the gala again?” Margot asked.
“That fancy country club at the edge of town.”
